


all these questions (are you the answer)

by Ann1215



Series: skts fluff week 2021 [8]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Confessions, Falling In Love, Fluff, For the most part, M/M, MSBY Black Jackals era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29654157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ann1215/pseuds/Ann1215
Summary: “Omi-kun,” Atsumu greets, coming to a stop in front of Kiyoomi. “Noticed ya been starin’ fer a bit. See somethin’ ya like?”To Kiyoomi’s consternation, his first immediate gut feeling isn’t nauseating, gut-curling disgust—instead, it’s a desire to agree with Atsumu’s stupid, nonchalant taunt.***Sakusa Kiyoomi, with all of the restrictions of logic and rationality, somehow dives headfirst into the embodiment of love itself anyway.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: skts fluff week 2021 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160846
Comments: 4
Kudos: 155
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	all these questions (are you the answer)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 10 of skts fluff week  
> Free Day

Kiyoomi has had crushes over the course of his fairly short life; not many, but enough to understand what they are and how they make him feel.

(Annoyed, at first. And then a mixture of embarrassment and acceptance once he realises that it is a pretty common occurrence; at least he doesn’t go as far as humiliating himself over these feelings.)

Most of those crushes were rooted in a sense of respect that nearly blurred the lines between admiration and attraction—and he’s no stranger to these feelings, contrary to Motoya’s assumptions, which is why the instant that he figures out that he likes Atsumu in a distinctly non-platonic manner, his first instinct is to question it.

Does he find Atsumu attractive?

Atsumu is…

Objectively attractive, Kiyoomi can admit that. He’s grown in the past few years when both of them were making their own paths after high school, and now that Kiyoomi’s been on the same team as him for nearly two seasons, he’s had the opportunity to see how much Atsumu works on his body. His hair is also no longer piss-yellow, and there’s a soft curl to it that highlights the way his eyes seem to sparkle every time he hits a service ace or executes an impossible toss. Miya Atsumu is good-looking, until he opens his mouth.

His words are no longer as barbed as they were during their teenage years, but Atsumu is still no stranger to bluntness and it’s enough to drive some people away; he’ll tear you down only to build you up, and only the strongest survive that kind of affection he carries for the sport and the people around him.

But thinking about Atsumu’s mouth inevitably leads to thoughts about how pink and full his lips look, how wide they stretch in a grin, the way he tends to chew on his bottom lip when he’s concentrating, trying to find the right words to aid in his rambles and sometimes Kiyoomi catches himself  _ thinking— _

Kiyoomi flushes.

Okay, so he’s at least physically attracted to Atsumu.

But that doesn’t mean he’s got a crush.

The next day during practice, he watches Atsumu a little more than usual. It’s not hard to keep one’s eyes on Atsumu. The man is, if nothing else, absolutely made for the volleyball court—he is passionate and resilient and absolutely hungry for victory, whether that’s over service aces, for his spikers’ attention, or simply for just one more toss, one more moment that lets him stay in the game.

No one looks at the setter unless they know the control a setter has on his team; with Atsumu, it’s laughably easy to keep watching him.

Kiyoomi doesn’t realise he hasn’t looked away for a while, until Atsumu himself walks up to him, right after the three-on-three scrimmage that Kiyoomi had opted out in favour for more conditioning on his arms, a smirk on his lips.

“Omi-kun,” he greets, coming to a stop in front of Kiyoomi. “Noticed ya been starin’ fer a bit. See somethin’ ya like?”

And to Kiyoomi’s consternation, his first immediate gut feeling isn’t nauseating, gut-curling disgust—instead, it’s a desire to agree with Atsumu’s stupid, nonchalant taunt.

He compromises with a non-committal hum, and gets the pleasure of seeing Atsumu’s face morphing into a hysterical expression of shock and confusion. His brows fly up, his mouth hangs open and he blinks like Kiyoomi’s about to disappear before him.

But that’s the extent of Kiyoomi’s courage; he walks away before Atsumu manages to gather himself enough to question Kiyoomi, and internally, he places a tick on a mental list that would potentially help determine if he does, in fact, have a crush on Atsumu.

To his surprise and relief, Atsumu doesn’t bring up the admittedly weird interaction afterwards, and Kiyoomi eventually places it in a space he’s made in the corner of his mind to figure out the roots of what seems to be a growing pool of feelings towards his teammate. 

So. The second question, then. Does he admire Atsumu?

His dedication to volleyball, to the sport they both love, is admirable in itself—but the same could be said for the rest of their team, and for anyone else that Kiyoomi knows are still hooked to the feeling of flying high in the centre of a court, palm stinging and feet thundering across the floor.

It lingers in his mind all throughout the rest of training, and by the end of it, he’s not anywhere close to finding the answer.

But as he’s getting ready to leave, Atsumu comes up to him again, freshly showered and hair still a little damp at the edges. Kiyoomi catches himself looking at the way Atsumu’s shirt clings to his body, before dragging his eyes back up to meet the other man’s gaze.

There’s an odd expression on his features, but it disappears as soon as Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow at him.

Atsumu grins. “Omi-kun, d’ya wanna grab dinner together?” 

They’ve had meals together, just the two of them, and this request isn’t even out of the ordinary because Atsumu does this once in a while, drags him out to one of the few places Kiyoomi likes to go to after practice when all he wants is a hearty meal, but this time—

He’s beginning to recognise the way his heart beats a little faster, how the expectant look in Atsumu’s eyes is probably just directed towards the prospect of having some company for dinner, but Kiyoomi can’t help but hope anyway that Atsumu had sought  _ him _ out, because he’d wanted to spend time with Kiyoomi specifically.

“Sure,” Kiyoomi agrees, and they walk out of the training centre together, choosing to head towards a place that serves some of the best hot pot dishes on this side of Osaka, just a few blocks away. All throughout dinner, as they share the food and pick at each other’s portions, he does his best to act normally. He shoots down Atsumu’s suggestion of getting houseplants to liven up his apartment, because “They don’t deserve to die just because you’re going to over water them,” agrees that yes, EJP Raijin’s new reserve setter will be hell to play against next week, and automatically holds out his sanitizer over Atsumu’s outstretched palms before and after they eat their meal.

Nothing is inherently different, and yet now that Kiyoomi is made aware of his own budding emotions, he can’t help but consider every single action Atsumu makes as something that feeds the emotion he’s still figuring out, but is beginning to realise as something that is here to stay for a while.

Like the way Atsumu smiles, like he’s genuinely happy to be spending time with Kiyoomi, arguing over the benefits of keeping a plant versus a pet.

The way he listens, like what Kiyoomi has to say merits enough significance for that little furrow of concentration on his brow, chewing thoughtfully on the last piece of meat before he says, “Nah, I really don’t think it’s all that different—ya gotta water plants and a cat too, right?”

How he makes sure to only brush against the fabric covering Kiyoomi’s skin, and only when necessary—like when they’re walking back to the building complex they live in, and he’d had to pull Kiyoomi aside to make space for someone who was hurrying down the street behind them, pinching the edge of Kiyoomi’s sleeve and then letting go as soon as the other person had passed.

At the end of the night, once Kiyoomi is safely in his apartment and getting ready for bed, he finally accepts the fact that yes, he does admire Atsumu, but this—how his cheeks get easily flushed from every little scrap of attention Atsumu gives him, how the corners of his lips curl up without his consent every time Atsumu makes a dumb joke—this is certainly more than admiration.

The thought plagues him more than he expects it to, and with each interaction he has with Atsumu, he has to learn to contend with how much his pulse races whenever Atsumu so much as glances at him, and how much he’d give just to be able to listen to Atsumu’s ramblings uninterrupted, his animated gestures somehow soothing and comforting to just watch.

By the time three weeks have passed, Kiyoomi is sure he’s found the answer to his other question from that first realisation. It’s come to the point where all Kiyoomi has left now is the conviction that he does, in fact, have real, romantic feelings for one Miya Atsumu, insufferable teammate and a constant presence in his life for some time now.

But then that begs a new question:

What the hell is he going to do about it?

He gets his answer two days later, when Atsumu sidles up next to him in the locker room after training. Everyone else has left already, and Kiyoomi waits for a dinner invitation, because that’s what he’s come to expect at this point whenever Atsumu catches him after they’ve both showered off the sweat and grime from volleyball, but this time Atsumu watches him for a couple of seconds quietly before he speaks up.

“Omi-kun,” he finally says, hesitation evident in his tone.

Kiyoomi turns towards him, cataloguing the frown on his features. “Atsumu?”

“Are ya feelin’ alright?”

Unbidden, a memory comes to him from last night when he’d lost a couple of hours envisioning a scenario just like the one playing out in front of him right now. “I’m fine,” Kiyoomi answers, grateful he’d put on his mask already. He’s pretty sure there’s pink on his cheeks now. “Why did you ask?

Atsumu’s frown doesn’t disappear, but his face lightens slightly. “You’ve been quieter than usual,” he points out, and Kiyoomi thinks,  _ it’s only because I want to hear you talk more. _ “And that’s sayin’ something. I was just wondering if it was… Ah, never mind.”

There are clouds hanging in the edges of Atsumu’s expression, and Kiyoomi thinks he would wade through the storms every time if only he can see the sun again, bathing in Atsumu’s smile. “What were you wondering about?” Kiyoomi asks, before Atsumu can turn away.

Atsumu stares back, and Kiyoomi’s ready to ask again when Atsumu finally asks in a small voice, “... Did I do something wrong?”

“What?”

Now Atsumu’s rambling again, but not in the specific way that Kiyoomi likes, his voice growing a little fast with worry and self-deprecation etched into his words, hands moving around to emphasise his thoughts. “Well, maybe not  _ wrong, _ something weird? Ya know, you could just tell me if I’ve been talkin’ too much or takin’ up more of yer time than ya wanted—”

“Atsumu—”

“—you don’t usually have an issue w’ tellin’ me what’s on yer mind, so I just… Thought that maybe there  _ was _ something—”

“Wait, Atsumu—”

“—but ya just didn’t feel like tellin’ me. It’s okay if ya don’t though, ‘s just me wonderin’, like I said and—”

_ “Atsumu,” _ Kiyoomi almost yells, grabbing the other man’s wrist to stop him from waving his hands around, and to finally grab his attention.

Atsumu’s words screech to a halt, and he stares in silence, looking back and forth between their hands and Kiyoomi’s face. In any other situation, Kiyoomi would probably relish in the disbelief clearly displayed across Atsumu’s face.

But right now, all he wants is to soothe the other man’s unfounded worries, and that compels him to slide his hand up, until he’s carefully holding Atsumu’s fingers in his palm, faintly registering the mild calluses from years and years of volleyball.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Kiyoomi states, squeezing Atsumu’s fingers a little. “I was just… To put it simply, I was just figuring out whether or not I liked you more than just a friend.”

Atsumu finally blinks, and whispers, “Oh my god, ya said we’re friends.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at that. “And I do,” he continues, ignoring Atsumu’s surprise at the fact that Kiyoomi considers them friends. “Like you more than just a friend, I mean.” He glances at their hands, suddenly unable to meet Atsumu’s gaze any longer. “You don’t have to say or do anything, though. I think… I think I just wanted you to know that.”

He makes to let go, but then Atsumu grabs on, and Kiyoomi’s heart jumps into his throat when Atsumu links their fingers together, and oh God, that smile, the one that makes Atsumu’s pretty eyes crinkle at the corners, the one that would be the death of him; it’s currently directed right at Kiyoomi right now and he’s not sure if he’s going to come out of this unscathed.

“Damn it, Omi-kun,” Atsumu sighs. “Ya beat me to it.”

Kiyoomi looks at him, something akin to hope building in him without any regard to his expectations. “Beat you to what?”

Atsumu steps closer, close enough that Kiyoomi doesn’t even think about looking away, too caught up in his gaze. “I was gonna confess, but then ya started actin’ all weird this past month, so I wasn’t sure if ya even wanted me around as much anymore.”

“Of course I want you around, I would have said otherwise if I didn’t,” Kiyoomi sniffs.  _ Wait. _ “Confess?”

“Mmhmm.” There’s a sting in his chest, as Atsumu brings both of their hands to his cheek, his smile smaller but no less dim than before. “I like ya too, Omi-kun. And I think we should date.”

_ Oh. _

Kiyoomi grazes his knuckles against Atsumu’s skin, as gentle as he knows how to. “Hmm. You think so?”

Atsumu pouts at Kiyoomi’s obvious teasing, but he nuzzles against Kiyoomi’s fingers anyway. “You just said ya wanted me around, Omi-Omi.”

He did, didn’t he?

It spurs him to tug down his mask with the other hand, revealing the smile that has been playing on his lips for the past couple of minutes, and Atsumu’s eyes zero in on his mouth, cheeks warm under Kiyoomi’s hand. “Okay, you’ve convinced me, I suppose. Let’s date, then.”

“Wow, ya sound real excited about this, Omi-kun,” Atsumu drawls, but he’s still smiling anyway.

And because Kiyoomi has been thinking about it for too many weeks, he leans down just a little bit, closing the distance between them, and brushes his lips against Atsumu’s hand still covering his own. When he pulls back, Atsumu’s face is a brilliant red, and that causes his own grin to widen.

As Atsumu starts spluttering about how it had been “unfair Omi-kun, ya gotta warn me next time ya do somethin’ like that, my poor heart can’t take it!” Kiyoomi knows he will have even more questions to come.

But as long as Atsumu is right there with him, he doesn’t mind finding the answers together.

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god I actually did it here's my final contribution to sakuatsu fluff week! hope you liked it!


End file.
